Page 4 of Breakup Games

“You gotta think how it makesmefeel,” he says, bringing a hand to his chest. As a therapist, I sit here and nod, taking it all in. As a woman, I want to gag and throw whatever the closest object is to me at his fucking face. I lean back, rolling my head side to side and take in a slow breath. This is my last session of the day, and I am more than ready to be done.

I’ve been going nonstop all day and went right home from the barn to shower, get dressed, and filmed a few videos for my social media. A year after I filed for divorce and left my own hell, I started recording my little “things I wished my own therapist told me” series on Instagram and TikTok. The series blew up and while I don’t have a million followers like Kat, I have a decent enough of a following that I profit off my channels, and more importantly, I get advice and wisdom out there for other women to see.

“You’re right, baby,” my client says and I take another deep breath, realizing I zoned out for a few seconds. I listen for a minute, catching back up with the conversation in no time.

“Let’s back up for a second,” I say, working hard to keep thegotcha, motherfuckergrin off my face. “Zed, you mentioned how Sadie working the evening shifts on Mondays makes you feel alone and not important.”

“Yeah,” he says, really laying it on thick as he plays the victim.

“And that’s why you had to go out with the boys toCash Bar.”

“Yep. It’s our place.”

My eyes slightly narrow. “Are you awareCash Baris closed on Mondays?”

“Is it?” Panic flickers over his face for a second. “You know what, I think you’re mistaken, Doc.”

“I’m a therapist, not a doctor,” I remind him. “And all of our sessions are recorded so we can go back and check.”

“Wait a minute,” Sadie says, blinking a few times. I love and hate this moment…the moment she can’t deny that his story doesn’t add up. “You weren’t with Jeff. His girlfriend posted about having a Harry Potter movie night in.”

“He wasn’t there. T-the other guys were.”

Biting my tongue so hard it’s about to bleed, I don’t tell him exactly what I think but instead ask him to elaborate on this, and to no one's surprise, he can’t.

“I’m seeing a lot of holes in this story, Zed.” I mentally readjust my therapist hat, saying each word with practiced patience. “Which leads me to think it would be worth booking some one-on-one sessions to dig into why you feel like you need to lie for self preservation. How was your childhood?”

He gets to his feet, defensively holding up his hands. “You know what? I’m not gonna sit here and listen to this. Sadie, I forgive you for being suspicious.” His words give me a flashbackto when I was the one sitting across from a therapist, listening to my own asshole ex tell me that he’dforgive me for calling the copsafter he physically assaulted me.

“He’s cheating, isn’t he?” Sadie asks with tears in her eyes.

“Yeah. He is.”

“Maybe…maybe…he can change.”

“No,” I say gently. “He won’t change.”

“What if I just try harder? Tell him how much he means to me.”

“No,” I repeat. “You deserve a partner, not a project. He doesn’t respect you.” I run my fingers through my hair. “You know what’s across fromCash Barthat is open on Mondays?”

She shakes her head as a single tear rolls down her face. My heart hurts for her, remembering all too well how it feels to finally be unable to deny what you already knew.

“A strip club. One that is known for sparkly girls.”

“Glitter.” Another realization comes over her and I’m already reaching for the tissue box. Just last week she was questioning him about the glitter in the front seat of his car. He told her that he bought “that stupid sparkly reindeer she wanted for Christmas last year” and she fucking bought it.

It’s May. They live in an apartment. Where the hell is he storing a life-size light-up reindeer?

“I don’t want to live without him,” she cries.

“It’s going to be okay,” I start. “And I know how fucking awful it is to hear someone say those words right now. But I promise you, it will get better. I’ve been in your shoes more than once.”

“Really?” She looks up, grabbing another tissue to mop up the tears streaming down her face. “You’ve been cheated on?”

“Twice. That I know of. First time, it was my husband. We were married for eight years. Second time was a boyfriend. And I gave them both more than one second chance. They never changed.”

Sadie takes in a ragged breath. Out of all my clients, she’s one I can say with confidence will be okay. She came in here at the end of her rope, and I know there’s almost a sense of relief now that she can let go and try and move on.

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